Kill Phil
by Fenix Fireheart
Summary: A sort of parody on Kill Bill, starring Patricia Maize as The Housewife.
1. Prologue

Greetings, dear reader. The story in which you are about to partake, my story, is about exactly what the title says: killing Phil. But who is Phil, you ask? And more imortantly, who am I?

My name is Patricia Maize, but you can call me Trish. I'm your everyday housewife/ex-assassin. Before I married my husband, Dr. Andrew Maize, I was Sally Valiant, one of the greatest assassins on the planet. I gave up on the business after I got married. But every now and then, I have to use my skills for... personal reasons.

Two days ago I was working out on the treadmill in our home gym when the house phone rang. Answering the call, I was met with the typical sweet-as-honey voice wielded by all telemarketers. The telemarketer introduced himself as Phil, and he wanted to talk to me about saving money on hotels in Florida.

Seeing as I hate Florida aka God's waiting room, I told him no thank you. He became more insistent. I refused politely, but firmly, telling him I had no wish to go to Florida until I was at least 80. Or dead. I told him good-bye, and I was about to end the call, when I heard him utter a word. A word that, to this day, no one has called me and lived to tell about it: Cunt.

I hung up, then dialed a number that I handn't bothered using in years; that of my old boss, the Serpent. He gathered the information I required on Phil and where he worked. After laying out my plan of action, I went to sleep that night with the peaceful reassurance that tomorrow, come hell or high water, I would KILL PHIL. 


	2. The Housewife's Arrival

I woke that morning alone in bed. It was 8:00; I'd slept later than usual. My husband and I had had quite a night, so I was somewhat exhausted. I wished he had woken me to say goodbye. But then, I knew that if he had, I couldn't have gone back to sleep, and thus wouldn't have the energy to perform my task: killing Phil.

Rolling out of bed, I hit the play button on my stereo, and the beats of 'Just Dance' blasted into the room. I ransacked my drawers, searching for an outfit fit for killing, but made me look as much like a housewife as possible so I could pick up our son, Timmy, from school after I took care of business.

Finally deciding on a pair of dark bootcut jeans, a peach colored shirt, and my lucky gold chain, I hurried to the corner of our bedroom and slid my fingers between the wall and the floorboards, lifing a hidden door. There, in a small crawlspace, were my weapons from my days as an assassin.

I quickly suited up, strapping holsters on for my .44 magnum, assault shotgun, and the katana my master, the Serpent, had awarded me upon completing my training. As I took them out one by one, it felt like I was meeting up with friends I hadn't seen in years.

Glancing at the clock, I knew I had to hurry to the Travel Services Network building if I were to take out the scum who dared to insult me and be on time to get Timmy. I pulled on my beige trench coat, effectively hiding my weapons, and headed to the garage. It was a rare occasion I got to drive my Jag. I took a moment to admire the black mirror-like surface. In no time, I was roaring off to TSN to exact my revenge.

The building was bland and unimpressive. As I casually strode toward the glass doors, I kept my fist tight on my katana's hilt, ready to rampage my way through the building, should Phil refuse to meet me head on.

As soon as I walked through the entrance, I threw my coat off, sword in one hand, magnum in the other. Many of the workers milling through the building stopped to stare at this display. All activity ceased when I roared out, "Philip Weatherbie! We have unfinished business!" Chaos broke loose. Worker drones scurried every which way as I stalked forward, ready to ascend the stairs, slashing this way and that as the pitiful employees panicked.

A woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was middle aged, Asian, with her hair tied back into a very tight, professional bun. She spoke in clear Japanese, her tone powerful and full of stone, "She-warrior, why do you attack my business, my dear employees?"

"I have an appointment with Philip Weatherbie. Do not try to stop me, old woman, or I will cut you down as well."

"Do you not know me child?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your identity is irrelevant to my vengeance."

"I was once known as Godmother Death. Is that name familiar?"

I gasped. Thirty years ago, Godmother Death had been the best assassin the world had ever known. After sustaining a near fatal injury on her last mission almost ten years back, she had quit the business. No one had heard from her since. And here she was, running a travel business right in Atlanta, Georgia.

She continued, "Godmother Death watches out for her own, and whether or not Philip wronged you, I will not allow you to just walk in and take him," she turned to one of her attendants, "Miyuki, summon the Black Guard."

Miyuki was young, maybe in her early twenties, and was Asian as well. She strutted confidently to a glass box marked with a black X and smashed it with her fist. She hit the button beneath, and the sound of a gong being bashed reverberated through the room.

From out of no where, at least fourteen ninjas in red appeared around me, swords drawn, eyes cold and black. Godmother Death smiled smugly, and walked down the hall with her attendants, leaving me alone with the Black Guard. As they began to close in on me, I closed my eyes and wondered why they were called the Black Guard if they wore red. Shaking off my confusion, I raised my sword, and took the first swing.

*  
Watch for the next chapter of Kill Phil: The Black Guard and Miyuki's Spirited Defiance.


	3. Miyuki's Spirited Defiance

I held my katana before me, using my senses to keep track of the ninjas' movements. They were slowly closing in on me, no doubt thinking I'd be easy pickings. Deciding to end the anticipation, I took the first swing, catching one by surprise and slashing him in half at the torso. He stared at me in shock for a full six seconds before he fell dead. This set off the rest of the ninjas, who ran at me in a screaming barrage of red and steel.

I swung and arced my sword swiftly and deliberately, hacking limbs here and there, finding a groin or two. One rushed me and I pierced him to the hilt, grabbing the blade aimed for my neck with my left hand, twisting the steel in his belly with my right. He screamed in agony before he dropped like a rock, and I took his sword, dual wielding with the grace and deadly precision the Serpent had taught me.

I guess they figured they might as well just go all out instead of using tactics with me, since they tried rushing me again. Big mistake. Piercing the floor with my newly acquired blade, I lifted myself off the floor, swinging myself into a 360 degree spin, kicking at one end, slashing at the other. The Black guard dropped like flies until but one remained. His eyes were wide in fear as be backed away from me. Any other day, I might have let him live, but I wasn't feeling particularly merciful that day, so stalking toward him, I effortlessly severed his hands when he lifted them to defend himself. His screams annoyed me, and I took one mighty swing, splitting him vertically in half.

I took a deep breath, the scent of congealing blood bringing to mind fond memories of bygone days... But enough of that. I glanced down at myself, finding my clothes were moderately soaked with their blood. I didn't mind it, but I wondered how I was going to change clothes in time to get Timmy. I'd think of something.

The building was eerily quiet as I ascended the stairs, sword in one hand, magnum in the other (I'd dropped the ninja's katana after slicing the last one in half). I jogged down the same hall Godmother Death had taken. Halfway to my next destination, one of the white ceramic tiles gave way under my foot. Pressure plate. A large Gatling gun lowered from the ceiling at the end of the hall, its spinning barrels aimed straight at me. I prayed I was still in shape enough to pull off my old evasion techniques.

The bullets zeroed in on me, and I flipped to the side, narrowly avoiding impact. I rushed forward, gaining as much speed as possible. The gun followed my movements, and I barely got out of the way each time it caught up with me. As I neared the end of the hall, two rockets emerged from the sides of the gatling gun, firing up and seeking me out. I knew I had a one in a million chance of dodging the things, and about an equal chance of surviving the stunt I was about to pull. With the momentum I had, I leapt sideways, now running down the wall with my sword held aloft.

I couldn't afford to waste precious ammo in case there was another ninja posse waiting, so I tucked my mag back in its holster. I was ten feet from the rockets, running at least 60 mph, and I pushed off from the wall, spinning as I did so. I connected my foot with the first rocket and sent it back toward the Gatling gun, blowing up the trap, and I held my breath as I cut the second rocket in two. Fortunately, Fate had granted me enough 'Badass Movie Effects' points to get through the pieces before it blew up. Just for kicks, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it on the lingering clouds of fire in the air.

I puffed a cloud of smoke as I entered a large zen garden, the girl, Miyuki, standing in the middle on a large black stone. She held a tessen in each hand, connected to what appeared to be razor wire on large spools strapped to her arms. It was an odd thing to witness.

Miyuki addressed me in Japanese, "I was hoping you'd make it past the turret. I'm going to enjoy killing you." She spread the fans, the iron sliding into place smoothly and soundlessly.

I rolled my eyes and got into my fighting stance. "Bring it, bitch."

I didn't expect the attack to come so quickly. An iron fan was suddenly six inches from my face, but I effortlessly dodged it with a slight turn of my head. This seemed to infuriate Miyuki, who began swinging her fans out on those pretty silver wires, landing a few nicks on my face and shoulders. I couldn't believe her speed. Every so often, I would deflect a fan with my sword, until finally one of the wires wrapped around the blade and pulled it from my hand, sending it across the garden. It stuck into one of the black rocks at the opposite end.

Miyuki's grin was disgustingly smug. I wanted to wipe it off her pretty face. So I unholstered my assault shotgun and gave the trigger a firm squeeze. Miyuki tried to dodge, but a few shells unloaded into her side, and she fell into the perfectly raked sand, groaning in agony. I pumped my legs hard, trying to reach my sword.

By the time I had pulled it from the stone, Miyuki was on her feet, though she was a bit wobbly. Reaching behind her, she pulled out six more fans, which were each tied on to its own separate wire. She came at me, tessen flashing, and I knew I had to act fast.

With a strength I didn't know I had, I kicked up one of the black rocks from its resting place in the sand, and round housed it straight toward Miyuki. She couldn't stop in time. The rock hit her square in the face and crushed her head, blood, brain and bone spraying everywhere. If I'd been as cold hearted as I was fifteen years ago, I might've appreciated the beauty of this particular stroke of luck a bit more.

At this point, I was starting to wear down, and I still had two more chapters to fight through. Plus driving to Timmy's school. As I holstered my shotgun and sheathed my katana, I took one last glance at the bloody chaos behind me, picked up my fallen cigarette, and exited the room. I found myself in a long hallway with an elevator at the end. Inside, I found I had only a couple floors left before I could finally complete my mission.

As the elevator lifted me to the next floor, I steeled myself for the upcoming battle with Godmother Death.

*  
Next chapter: Showdown in the Fourth Floor Lounge


End file.
